


Thirty Days of HoMin

by WennyT



Series: Writing Challenges for Yunho x Changmin [6]
Category: DBSK|Tohoshinki|TVXQ
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, Challenge Response, ChangKyuWook bromance, Complete, Drabble Collection, Ficlet Collection, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, M/M, One Shot Collection, One Word Prompt Meme, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Other, Romance, SMTown - Freeform, Smut, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-01
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-03 08:31:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 16,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1068306
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WennyT/pseuds/WennyT
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If the words between you and I made a song, what would your favourite melody be? Thirty days of Yunho and Changmin, thirty days of love. Written with prompts off of a Tumblr Writing Challenge.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompts: beginning. accusation. restless. snowflake. haze. flame. formal. companion. move. silver. prepared. knowledge. denial. wind. order. thanks. look. summer. transformation. tremble. sunset. mad. thousand. outside. winter. diamond. letters. promise. simple. future.
> 
> Updates are in chronological order.

Day 1- Beginning [Homin]

 

Yunho meets Changmin just as the latter turns fourteen, when rumours of a boy prodigy with stunning vocals and excellent motor coordination and a face that makes angels weep being recruited into the company, spread around the trainees like wildfire.

 

He finally sees for himself how the new trainee looks like a few days after he hears of him, when one of the choreographers sticks his head into the dance studio Yunho has commandeered for himself. Yunho looks away from the mirror, body bent in the middle of a power move. “Jaewon _hyung_ ,” he greets, dropping his legs down from they were hovering in mid-air and dipping into a bow immediately, “good afternoon.”

 

“Afternoon, Yunho,” Jaewon smiles, an arm slung about a lanky looking boy dressed in a perfectly pressed shirt and trousers about two sizes too big for him. “This is Changmin, our newest trainee. Changmin-ah, this is Yunho, one of our best trainees. You remember Dana- _noona_ , whom we met just now? Yunho here is one of her rappers and back-up dancers.”

 

The words ‘Changmin’ and ‘newest trainee’ registers in his head, but then he takes one look at the other boy’s face and everything just exits his brain again at the sight of rounded, wondering eyes, framed by too long eyelashes. They are the prettiest eyes he has even seen, and they are fixed mainly on the floor, but dart upwards towards his face and away again every once in a while.

 

Yunho likes that the new trainee keeps staring at the floor, because then _he_ can stare unnoticed (Jaewon teases him about this in the distant future, saying that Yunho was so struck by Changmin’s face that he forgot all about his _hyung_ being in the room too) at the almost feminine down-sweep of the new trainee’s lashes, fanned against cheekbones still gently rounded by baby fat. 

 

They strike up a halting conversation, and Yunho does not quite know what he says until he blurts, “please quit now if you’re not serious about succeeding in this industry”, and he only realises what his stupid big fat mouth has uttered when the new- when Changmin’s face just _crumples_. Jaewon opens his mouth to say something and but nothing comes out and they just stand there, an awkward tableau of three for a little bit, until-

 

“Well!” Jaewon laughs, a stilted ha-ha-heh, and makes to usher Changmin from the studio. He casts Yunho a mildly chastising look, and that single look makes Yunho feel like a cockroach scuttling across the floor. “We still have to keep going, Changmin, you wanted to see the studio where BoA- _noona_ records her songs, right? Come on, let’s go!”

 

Yunho tries to form a “sorry wait I didn’t mean to come back can I keep you I think I like you”, but what exits his fucking idiotic mouth instead is an incomprehensible grunt, and before he knows it, they are gone and he is alone again in the room.

 

It seems darker, dimmer. Colder. Somehow.


	2. Denial

Day 13 – Denial [HoMin]

The slamming of the door to their flat has Changmin tensing in bed. He sits up, and glances over at the electronic alarm clock on his bed stand. The glowing numbers have his hands clenching involuntarily into the duvet. 3:33 AM, it reads. 

There is another sound, a crash, and a muffled groan of “Changmin-aaaahhhh” filters in through his closed bedroom door. Changmin glares at it and wishes that management had given them a larger budget when they had moved in years ago, a budget that would have allowed soundproofed walls. And doors. 

More noises, as though someone is stumbling around blind (or fucking pissed, wasted, he thinks uncharitably). Then, silence.

His feet are on the floor of their own volition, and Changmin grounds his teeth and tells them, “no”. The word is unreasonably loud now that there are no other…. disturbances. 

If only the noise was because of a burglar. Or a sasaeng. He could use the burglar as an outlet for all his anger and frustration and then claim the beating was done in self-defence. Most sasaengs tend to be girls though, so the option of physical violence is out. But at least he can still make them cry, which would be counter-productive but at least he could do something.

"Fuck this shit," he mutters, and gives up, flinging his duvet aside and stomps his way towards the door. He wrenches it open, and what do you know, there is a Yunho slumped over right in front of his feet. 

"Yah, Jung Yunho," he gives the pathetic mess on the floor a light kick. "You have your own room, quit fucking squatting in front of mine."

"Changmin-ah!" Yunho lifts his head, mouth slack and eyes unfocused. "My Changminnie, mine… only Changminnie now, only Ch- why are there thur- thar- three of you?"

"You’re drunk." He bites back the honorific upon his tongue, and the disgust welling up his throat. This Yunho is not the Yunho he knows. This Yunho does not deserve his respect.

"Nuh uh, not not not drunk, can drink a- a- wossat, a- barrel more!" Yunho declares, slinging his arms around Changmin’s ankles and clings tight, pressing his mouth against the arch of Changmin’s right foot. Hissing, Changmin steps away, barely feeling anything as Yunho thuds back down on the hard floor. "You’re a fucking alcoholic. Look at you."

"Not- not- not- not a- not a- an alco- colal-" Yunho gives up trying to enunciate and rolls onto his back. There’s sandpaper in Changmin’s mouth and acid in Changmin’s nose. He takes a deep breath and reaches down, hauling Yunho up by his armpits, while the other protests the rough treatment. "Ow- Hurts- No, no, doesn’t hurt- Everything is fine, fine- doesn’t hurt- We’re fine, all fine- Love you, Changminnie, love you-“

Fuck. He bites down hard on his bottom lip, tasting copper. “Damn you, Jung Yunho,” he rasps out, and tries to ignore the fact that his eyes are stinging. They’re probably just watering from the foul fumes wafting from Yunho whenever he opens his mouth.

Yeah. Probably.


	3. Order

Day 15 - Order [HoMin]

 

"Yunho-ssi," Changmin's personal trainer greets nervously, with an anxious smile on his normally stoic face. "He's in the boxing room."

 

The information has Yunho's eyebrows lifting in surprise. "He boxes?"

 

"Erm, no, he's doesn't." The other man returns, but does not elaborate. Instead he shakes his head and points at a closed door down the hallway they are in, to Yunho's right. Yunho shoots him a puzzled glance, but the trainer deliberately avoids it, choosing to look at the lights adorning the ceiling instead.

 

"Okay," he says, heading for the closed door, one hand rising up to knock. The trainer speaks before he can, however. "You might want to just, erm, head in. I don't think he'll stop to open the door for you. He's quite... Agitated."

 

Yunho darts him another quizzical look, but the other man is already turning away, with his body language screaming don't-involve-me-in-this. Yunho wonders absentmindedly why the trainer would ring him down only to brush him off, but he does not really care. Changmin is more important.

 

He opens the door to chaos.

 

Heavy punching bags litter the floor, like dead bodies on a battlefield, and with sand and sawdust strewn all about. Changmin is in the centre of it all, working away furiously at a still-intact heavy bag.

 

Changmin is not boxing at it, though. He— he is— He is mauling at it, throwing frenzied punches and kicks and scratches and generally just trying to hurt the heavy bag like it's another human. His hair is matted, fringe half-covering his eyes. His face is red, he's slick with sweat and breathing so heavily that he sounds like he's run for kilometres.

 

"Changmin-ah," Yunho begins cautiously, but Changmin does not seem to have heard. He walks closer, close enough to hear Changmin snarling words through his gasps, close enough to hear the ferocity behind them. Every phrase is punctuated by another hit at the bag. "Ungrateful motherfucker- Punch your head off- enemies, huh? Yeah they're all- all- _all your enemies_ \- way out of order, you ass! Shitshitfuck- _All_ of them- Both of us too, huh? Guess we're also the- fucking- enemy now-"

 

"Changmin." Yunho tries again, but he is standing too near when he says it, and Changmin startles, swinging around instinctively with a fist. Yunho ducks, but barely, and Changmin stares at him, through him, eyes glazed like a maddened bull.

 

It takes him a few second before he recognises Yunho, and he does so with a start. "Oh, hyu- ah, Yunho. Why... What are you doing here?"

 

Yunho tries to ignore the now familiar hurt at the truncated honorific. "Your trainer called, so I came." Is what he actually settles for saying. He waves a hand at the mess about them. "What's- what's wrong?"

 

Changmin wipes the back of his hand against his forehead, pushing his fringe up and out of his eyes. The silence is unrelenting, and it expands as they gaze at each other.

 

Then he forces a smile at Yunho. It looks more like a grimace. "How about everything?"

 

"You want to talk about it?" Yunho has an inkling of what Changmin is angry about, though. Manager-hyung called him last night to rant about Juns- to rant about Kim-ssi's tweet, too.

 

"How about... no."

 

Yunho thinks the grin on Changmin's smile is screaming _no_ , too. He also thinks that Changmin probably won't say anything if he prods. "You want to uh, go for a drink?"

 

Changmin's eyes are narrowing into slits, so Yunho tacks on a hasty "I'll stick to tea or water or soft drinks. I promise. You can have the alcohol by yourself."

 

Five seconds pass, and Yunho's heart starts to sink when Changmin says nothing. He bites down hard on the inside of his cheek and wonders why he even thought for a second that Changmin would deign to confide in him, when Changmin is the sole witness to his meltdown these past months. He—

 

He stops holding his breath, letting out an explosive sigh when Changmin nods, shoulders slumping slightly. "Okay. Yeah. Okay. As long as you stick to water."


	4. Accusation

Day 2- Accusation [HoMin]

 

Traitor, betrayer, dog. They are better off without you. I hope you die. I hope your family suffers.

 

The accusations echo over and over in his head, like sounds skipping from a broken gramophone record. They become his constant companions, always there even after he works out at the gym till his legs dissolve beneath him, even when he drinks himself under the table with his friends, even as he wanders the length of the metro routes. Whispering, condemning. Haunting.

 

He even dreams of the words, waking up slick in cold sweat, hair matted against his face, sheets tangled about his legs, a despairing sob on his lips. They’re always there. Always looping, always with him.

 

He does not dare to call home these days. He is too ashamed; too sorry about the trouble he brings his family. He sees his father on the television, voice hoarse from defending him to the vicious mob baying for his blood. There are new lines on his father’s forehead, at the corner of his eyes, the edges of his mouth.

 

The television stays switched off for the next fortnight. 

 

His cousin texts him an apology, embarrassed about how his aunt had sneered into his mother’s face at the last family gathering. His high school best friend calls him deep in the night, ranting about how his sister, his sweet innocent sister got attacked by crazed anti-fans, who threw things at her and screamed at her for having scum for a brother.

 

Sometimes he wonders if he should end it all. If that will mean an end to the pain his existence is bringing to him, and to others.

 

But through it all, he is also there too. The other one, the one who stayed. And whenever he looks across the dining table, the conference table, the sofa, the stage into those eyes, into that steadfast gaze, he thinks the accusations are worth it. The overstrained muscles, the blisters on his feet, the burn of gastritis, the pain and the guilt and the shame, they’re all worth it, and if he were given a chance, he’ll do it all over again.

 

He thinks he, no, they, are capable of all things, that they will always be capable as long as there is a ‘they’. As long as Changmin is by his side.


	5. Restless

Day 3- Restless [HoMin]

 

It’s a Thursday evening, and they’re both home for once. They don’t go out because of work, though. They haven’t had work in months.

 

It feels like years, instead.

 

Changmin is hungry, and he nearly opens his mouth to yell out that he wants kimchi soup with rice cakes, but he recalls at the last second that there is no one in the kitchen to answer him now.

 

They have been surviving on takeout and instant ramen instead, but last night the ramen ran out. He woke up hungry and ended up drinking two big bottles of water instead. There and then, Changmin resolved to learn to cook.

 

Now they’re watching the repeated telecast of one of One Piece’s many episodes on the TV, and Yunho has the volume turned up even though there is only the two of them, and they are both sitting on the sofa barely five metres away from the screen.

 

It makes the opening theme even more jarring, and the first few bars are sung by a voice that Changmin no longer wishes to hear again.

 

He reaches over for the remote, pressing down on “Mute” with more ferocity than warranted. Ignoring Yunho’s protests of “I was watching that!”, he turns and shuffles over, until they’re no longer sitting at the opposite ends of the sofa. Until he’s seated with his legs folded beneath him and his knees are touching Yunho’s thighs. “Hyung, do you think we’ll ever have a chance to perform One Piece’s songs again?”

 

The forced cheeriness drains out of Yunho’s features, and he slumps slightly, looking older and more defeated than Changmin has ever seen him. He swallows, staring unseeingly at Tony Tony Chopper running across the screen, and the pronounced bob of his Adam’s apple tells Changmin that his hyung understands what he is really asking.

 

“I don’t know,” Yunho finally replies after what seems like a decade of silence. “I don’t know, Changminnie.”


	6. Snowflake

Day 4 - Snowflake [HoMin]

 

“Look, winter’s arrived,” Changmin muses, fingers pressed against the window to their living room, tracing at the frost lining the edges of the sill. Their comeback is in about two weeks, and they’ve been out of their flat more often than not these days. His days are a blur of practice-eat-practice-sleep-practice, and he worries that even that is not enough.

 

They’ve not been on the stage for more than a year, and what if it shows? What if he stumbles, or worse; what if he goes off-key? Yunho has assured him time and again that such things are impossible, because he is Choikang Changmin after all, but the forced cheeriness in his voice is paper-thin.

 

"It’s been here for nearly a month, Changminnie, where have you been?" Yunho’s voice pulls him out of his melancholy thoughts, and he turns in surprise to see the former already at his shoulder. "Yah, Jung, you scared me, I thought you were at- Wait, your shoes!" And here he darts a sharp glance towards the floor, but he’s mollified to see Yunho’s bare feet.

 

"Already off, Shim Changmin-nim," Yunho rolls his eyes, but belies the mocking gesture with a fond ruffle of Changmin’s hair. The younger ducks, protesting: "ey, hyung, stop treating me like Taepoong!” The ruffling turned more pronounced, however, and rapidly evolved into an impromptu wrestling match that has the two of them sprawled across the cold floor, breathing hard.

 

"I think you broke my ribs," Yunho groans, when it is over, and Changmin aims a kick at his head but pulls back at the last second, which sets Yunho off. "Aw, our Changminnie can’t bear to hurt his old hyung, huh?”

 

"Just shut up," Changmin grouses, staring up at the window absentmindedly. It takes his mind all of five seconds to realise that there are white bits of things floating about in a flurry outside the window, and what they are; and he sits up, fatigue from dancing and playing all but forgotten. "Look, hyung, snow! It’s snowing! Finally.”

 

Yunho doesn’t move from his spot, but he does smile with so much affection that Changmin finds it painful, even more so when he knows all of that is for him, and him alone now. “That it is. Happy Christmas, Changminnie.”

 

"Happy Christmas, Yunho-hyung.”

 


	7. Flame

Day 6 - Flame [HoMin]

 

He watches, mesmerised as the figure on stage spins, a faux pirouette, and another. The man that he is watching dances with his whole body, fingers-arms-shoulders-thighs-legs-feet trembling with passion. He hasn’t met anyone, man, woman, boy girl; he hasn’t met anyone else who dances with such joie de vivre, yet.

 

That man is Jung Yunho.

 

He can’t tear his eyes away, entranced by how Yunho is turning and turning and turning, the perspiration dripping off of him to glint under the flare of the harsh lights. His hair forms a brilliant red halo as he bends back, spine bowed impossibly into an arc, and it settles back against the curve of his head as Yunho flings his head forward. Yunho is turning and laughing; and the utter joy of it, of Yunho makes him feel like a voyeur, like he isn’t supposed to be here.

 

All the joy emitting from Yunho, at just being on the stage, makes him want to bottle Yunho up, bottle all the fire and spirit up, and secret him away, to somewhere safe. Because fire and flame is fragile, easily doused, easily snuffed, despite popular misconception.

 

A tap on his shoulder interrupts his musings, and he looks over his shoulder to see the choreographer hovering, looking slightly amused. “Changmin-ah,” he wants to know, “why are you hiding in the wings, gaping at your hyung like a awestruck fan? We need you up in front, Yunho can’t run through the rehearsal by himself, you know.”

 

Changmin nods, somewhat embarrassed, and straightens at his clothing. Yes, fire cannot survive on its own; and he is the air to Yunho’s flame. He fans and encourages, and tamps down, when needed. But he will never, never put Yunho out.

 

He looks up again, and sees Yunho, turned in his direction this time, gesturing animatedly with a blinding smile on his face. “Changminnie,” he says, voice saturated with affection, “there you are! I wondered where you were, come here.”

 

And Changmin goes.


	8. Thanks

Day 16 - Thanks [HoMin]

 

The roar of the crowd is still audible, even though they are backstage now, deep within the bowels of the stadium. Yunho accepts the hugs and congratulatory thumps on his back from his label-mates, the grin on his face so large that it is almost painful. But he feels odd, somehow. It is as though he is underwater and his body is moving a touch too slowly for his brain, which is speeding, racingracingracing forward with all its might.

 

There are faces, coming-going-coming in his vision, people he knows, that he has known for years. He tries to name them all, but they dart in and out of sight faster than he can label them all. _Donghae. Seohyun. Onew. Kangta-hyung. Siwon. BoA. Dana-noona. Amber. Henry. Taeyeon._

 

And more, more, more, a blur of faces, spinning in a kaleidoscope of colours. He feels dizzy, as though he were twirling around, out of control on a carousel.

 

 _We did it we did it we did it,_ every thump of his heart exclaims, and there are people screaming that into his ear too, a deafening chorus of _you-did-it-you-did-it-we-knew-you-could_. It sings in his blood, like a perfect song, a running stream of notes trickling in his veins. But even as he returns the hugs and bumps his fist against countless others, even as he laughs and shouts, there is a pulse of pure terror running through him.

 

What if this was a dream? What if he wakes up, tangled in his own sheets, and everything is still broken and not fixed and everything still hurts? What if two is not enough after all? _Please don't be a dream. This can’t be a dream. Please be real, it has to be real, it must be real._

 

A shoulder bumps against his, one so familiar that his recognition is instantaneous. He grapples for it, for the arm it leads to, hand sliding down sweaty skin to latch on to another hand, of similar size, with similar scars and calluses.

 

This is a hand he has held for years and years. He had let go a little while before, but it stayed, _he_ stayed, waiting for him, nevertheless. Yunho will always be grateful for that.

 

Yunho squeezes hard, and feels an answering squeeze back, strong fingers wrapped around his. And that is enough; suddenly there's a roaring in his ears and everything just rushes up and aligns itself perfectly, his mind and his body are in sync again. He is there again, he is there in the centre of it all, in the here and now, he is _there_ and it is not a dream and he lives. _They_ live.

 

He wrenches away from the other bodies, the other arms, turning until he's holding the owner of that hand against him, until they're patting each other awkwardly on the back, on the cheek. Their heads are bowed together, dark against dark, in an attempt to pretend they are not overcome with emotion, because they are too proud to admit that they bleed and they cry and they feel, too.

 

"Thank you for staying," Yunho finally whispers, a rough rasp of sound right into Changmin's ear. The younger man only hums, murmuring lowly in reply, "no, thank _you_ for giving me a reason to stay."


	9. Summer

Day 18 - Summer [HoMin]

 

Changmin tugs at the collar of his teal jumper for the umpteenth time, scowling into the distance. If only his wardrobe stylist were a man. At least he could take a swing at her- at  _him_  then, without people giving him shit for beating up a woman. 

 

"Don’t sulk, Changminnie, we’re in Spain!" Yunho pops up next to him, slinging an arm about Changmin’s shoulder. He is clothed in a grey woollen cardigan of similar thickness, a silly scarf with loud prints looped around his neck against a thin white linen shirt. It is midsummer in Malaga, with properly blue skies and an oppressive heat to match, but their stylists seem to have missed the memo. The only indication that they realise it is summer is the shorts they have him wearing, but even those are made of thick denim.

 

"Look, at all those flowers, they’re so pretty!"

 

Changmin can feel his face screwing into a grimace again; he smoothes at the hem of the flowery shirt beneath his jumper as he tries to recover from the mini heart attack Yunho’s sudden appearance has induced. 

 

"Don’t do that, Jung,” he snaps, huffing out a long-suffering sigh while trying his best to ignore the way Yunho’s smile is crumpling at the edges. Serves him right for trying to send his beloved Changmin to an early death, anyway. “You know I hate it when you jump out at me like that.”

 

"Yeah, I’m sorry, I forgot," Yunho murmurs, momentarily chastened, before his entire face lights up again. He flings his hands about enthusiastically, gesticulating wildly without a care for the way his sleeves are flopping over his wrists. "But but but Changmin! Changmin! We’re in _Spain_!"

 

"Yes, Yunho," Changmin answers with exaggerated patience, even as the he tries to stop his lips from curving up in an answering smile. “Yes, we’re in Spain, and yes, that’s the seventy fourth time you’ve told me that since we landed.”

 

"Oh… yeah. I guess I’m kind of excited." Yunho laughs again, but it’s a different laugh this time. It is the one where he goes  _ha-ha-haaaaa_ , the forced one he uses every time they come across a too intimate interview question or encounter overzealous fans. 

 

Changmin hates that laugh. 

 

He is quick to speak up before the damage really sets in. “I’m sorry,” he blurts out, tone placating and hands outstretched to tug at Yunho’s sleeves, to tug Yunho closer. They are standing nearly toe to toe now, close enough for Changmin’s peace of mind, but not close enough to make others think they are doing anything but discussing work and other serious matters. “Sorry. It’s just really warm- and the clothes- the heat is just- and I’m just—”

 

"It’s okay, Changmin." Yunho’s features soften with sympathy and understanding. He pats once on Changmin’s arm, and Changmin knows that he is forgiven. He heaves an audible sigh of relief. His Yunho forgives too easily, but then again, he is hardly one to complain.

 

He knocks his elbow against Yunho’s, and tries for a light-hearted tone. “Hey, do you think the staff has got it in for us? I mean, it’s fucking summer, you would think they would have prepared shorts and T-shirts.”

 

"Don’t swear, Changminnie, the cameras may be filming you," Yunho admonishes, but he is smiling regardless. Changmin tosses his head back, irritated by how his fringe keeps stabbing him in the eyes, and retorts, "I’m only saying the truth, Jung, don’t tell me you aren’t sweating like hell in that get-up.”

 

"I think our wardrobe stylist is only mad at you,” Yunho muses, a wicked glint in his eye. He bumps his shoulder back into Changmin’s. “Because I really don’t feel that warm in this shirt and shorts.”

 

"What the—" With a start, Changmin realises that Yunho is right. He gapes at Yunho, once, twice, in furious disbelief, and he spins around, head turning this way and that, searching for his personal stylist. “Oy! Has anyone seen our stylist— I mean, what the fuck is this? This is fucking unfair, I tell you! _Oy_!”

 


	10. Look

Day 17 – Look [HoMin]

 

"Closer now, Changmin-san, Yunho-san! I want you to look at each other like you two are brothers who love each other very much!"

 

 _Yeah, right,_ Changmin snorts to himself in his head at the woman's instructions. Ninagawa is a brilliant photographer, but someone should get her to a therapist anyway. She is soft in the head if she thinks grown men who are brothers should lounge on a same bed together while in homoerotic poses straight out of a JGV.

 

"Yes, Yunho-san, just like that! I want you joyful and yes, yes, touch Changmin-san, _yes_! I want interactions!"

 

A large hand lands on his hair, and Changmin tosses his head back in a successful attempt to shake it off. Coordi- _noona_ would have his balls for breakfast, severed and on a platter, if his hair gets messed up this early into the photo-shoot. He had to endure nearly an hour of lecturing yesterday, after she saw the careless way he treated the faux-military jacket they forced him to wear at the bullring.

 

He does not think it is his fault, though. The staff are crazy (or they are sadistic and wish to torture him, which is more likely) to think that heavy velvet and mink is tolerable in this sweltering heat.

 

"Beautiful, Yunho-san! Yes, yes, you're looking so bright and handsome!"

 

He can feel the idiot next to him beaming harder at her exclamations, and then a hand curves about Changmin's neck, gripping tight for a beat too long to be anything but offence at his supposed rejection. Changmin rolls his eyes and decides to let it pass. For now, because there is plenty of time to punish and placate his lesser half tonight.

 

"Changmin-san, can I have a smile? Oh yes, yes, but happier, you're very happy to be here with Yunho-nii-san, yes? Give me that happiness!"

 

He bares his teeth in a half-hearted approximation of a smile, and that seems to satisfy Ninagawa, because she is cooing over how brotherly they look now, and fussing about how the light casts part of their faces into shadow.

 

Changmin wonders if she will still think of their relationship as brotherly if she knew how hard Yunho had pounded into him last night.

 

"—and can the two of you just lean closer, don't be shy, lean closer, let the camera show how much you love each other!"

 

Biting down hard on his bottom lip to stifle his amusement, Changmin shifts a centimetre to his left, never taking his eyes off of the camera lens. How much they love each other, indeed. He doubts that will be allowed past the censors if it were shown in its entirety.

 

Ninagawa clicks her tongue in faint disapproval. "Oh, Changmin-san... Yunho-san, if you can...?"

 

She barely has time to finish her sentence before a pillow is flung into Changmin's lap, followed by Yunho himself a second later. The excessive movement jolts Changmin, and a bolt of pain shoots up his spine, exacerbated by seventy kilograms of healthy male sprawled across his thighs.

 

Changmin widens his smile in an attempt to ignore how much his arse hurts right now. Stupid Jung. Stupid Jung's cock. Stupid him for liking stupid Jung’s stupid cock.

 

He directs a pointed look at the back of Yunho's face and a less subtle pinch to Yunho's side, but the other ignores him to laugh at the camera, white teeth gleaming in the sunlight.

 

... Looks like there will be more punishment than placating tonight.


	11. Transformation

Day 19 - Transformation [HoMin]

 

"Well? What do you think?" The words startle Yunho from his thoughts, and he looks up into the mirror, at the reflection of his beaming hair stylist standing behind him, hair dryer in hand.

 

"I like it," Yunho offers, fingers still combing through his newly shorn tresses; staring at the way his fringe falls softly across his forehead. And he does. It is just different.

 

It has been years since his image has been anything but "powerful and charismatic leader", and his hair styles tend to reflect that, being more on the short and spiky side. Changmin was usually the one with the fashionably blunt bangs and pretty hair. Not that Yunho is complaining, because having a fringe and dyed colours translate to tedious hair care regimes that he cannot really be bothered with.

 

But damn... He looks good with this cut. The highlights that his stylist threw in with deceptive haphazardness do much in framing his eyes and cheekbones. He likes this. Changmin will like this.

 

A muffled laugh from the girl behind him brings a faint flush to Yunho's face, and he is somewhat embarrassed to be caught ogling himself in the mirror like a narcissistic schoolboy.

 

"Well!" He grins with a tinge of awkwardness, unfolding himself from the make-up chair. "Thanks, Noona, I love it a lot, I'll just, er, go find Changminnie now, he's probably done too. Erm, thanks again for the haircut, it's really nice!"

 

He leaves his stylist giggling behind him and tromps to the next room where Changmin is at with his personal hair stylist, while willing the red from his cheeks. He is so absorbed in his task that he nearly bumps into Changmin by the doorway. 

 

"Changmin-ah, isn't my haircut nice, I-" Yunho starts, but his sentence tapers off as he stares at Changmin. Or more specifically, at Changmin's face and Changmin's ears and Changmin's eyebrows and Changmin's neck.

 

"I knew it," the younger man groans after one look at Yunho's slack jaw and dazed eyes. "You think it sucks too, don't you? Ugh, I really don't know what I did to piss them off, but this is just too ridic-"  
  
"Ears," Yunho breathes, too wrecked to form a coherent sentence. He reaches out a hand and traces a finger over the shell of Changmin's left ear, exposed to air by his new haircut. 

 

Changmin bats at his hand irritably, and tries to pull what's left of his hair over the tips of his ears. It does not work. "I know! Ugh! This stupid cut practically shouts to the world that my ears stick out, damn it, do you think they do extensions for-"

 

He does not get to say anymore, because there is suddenly an armful of Yunho practically on top on him, and all about him. "No no no no no no," Yunho murmurs, lips against Changmin's own, "no extensions, I forbid them. Love them like this."

 

"Are you high on hairspray, Jung?" Changmin pushes half-heartedly against Yunho's shoulders with a fist, but he slips his other arm around the latter's waist anyway. "This fucking cut makes me look like a psychotic toddler. How in the world-"

 

"No," Yunho says firmly, crisply, imprints the syllable on Changmin's tongue. "No, I like this. Love your ears like this. It's like you're fifteen all over again. Your beautiful neck and your big big eyes and your cute ears. Sweet and innocent and so shy, so so shy."

 

"What," Changmin returns, nonplussed, pushing Yunho's face away with a hand that is too broad to belong to a fifteen year old. "Jung, what the fuck? Do you have some paedophilic fetish that I have no idea of?"


	12. Silver

Day 10 - Silver [HoMin]

 

"What the hell?" Changmin gapes in disbelief, as he stares at the silver studs adorning the new performance outfit his wadrobe stylist has just unveiled to him.

 

"I would have thought you’ll be pleased," his stylist starts, but she shuts her mouth with a snap when Changmin makes a dismissive hand gesture, eyes drawn to the other side of the room, where Yunho is already dressed in his.

 

"Why the hell would I be pleased with- with that?” Changmin blusters, gesturing at the generous expanse of back revealed as Yunho, upon catching his gaze by accident, turns away.

 

"Well," His personal stylist murmurs, tone reasonable but gaze flinty, “you won’t sweat like a pig in it, for one thing.”

 

"Yeah but-" _but I don’t want Yunho walking around half naked,_ is what Changmin wants to say. Instead he settles for growling, “what if we’re having the water effects thing again, huh? I refuse to lie down on the fucking floor in this. I refuse. The water will get in it and I’ll be filthy and wet and if I get up after that my back will be soaked and-“

 

His stylist nods along to his ranting, but she’s shoving him towards the dressing room as he goes, and fuck but she is strong.

 


	13. Thousand

Day 23 – Thousand [HoMin]

 

One thousand, two hundred and fifteen days. And it is over, just like that. How anti-climatic. Yunho rings Changmin the minute he hears the news. It takes three calls before Changmin picks up the phone, however.

 

“Where were you?” Yunho demands, cutting Changmin off from saying his name. “I called thrice, aren’t you at home? Why didn’t you answer?”

 

“I am,” returns the other, surprise evident in his voice. “I’m in my room now, actually. What’s wrong?”

 

“Don’t change the subject,” Yunho says, the words coming out harsher than he intends them to. “What were you doing? Why didn’t you answer my calls?”

 

“I was playing Starcraft with Kyu. I forgot to take my phone out from silent mode and it’s on my bed stand, I’m sorry I didn’t check it,” Changmin replies cautiously. “Yunho, what’s wrong?”

 

“Oh. You were gaming with Kyu,” Yunho repeats. He sags down in his sofa, from where he has been pacing a hole into his living room carpet. “Oh.”

 

“Yunho,” Changmin says again, concern heavy in every word. “Yunho, what’s wrong? Do you need me to come over—”

 

“No! No.” Yunho runs a hand through his hair and tries to soften his tone. He does not want to worry Changmin. “No. I’m fine. You just— You didn’t answer your phone at all? Didn’t check it?”

 

“No…? Oh wait, there’s also a missed call each from our managers, and an unknown number.”

 

Yunho’s heart skips a beat at the last two words. Could it be—but that would be really brazen. Yunho will not put it past them, though. He refocuses on Changmin’s voice only to hear the younger man working up to a fit.

 

“Yunho, fuck, answer me, why are you—”

 

“I’m here! I’m here. Just got… a bit lost in my thoughts.” Yunho fumbles, wincing even as he speaks the words. Changmin is unimpressed. “You called me just to get lost in your thoughts? Wow, the fuck, and here I—”

 

“No, no. I called you because, well— because… My manager called me, and he told me that— well— it’s over.”

 

“What’s over? You know, Yunho, in a conversation, you need to speak clearly for the other party to comprehend you so that an actual conversation can take place.”

 

“I—” Biting down hard on his bottom lip, Yunho blurts out. “The lawsuit. It’s over. They… Both sides withdrew it.”

 

Silence. And then: “Oh.”

 

“Are you— are you going to contact them?” Yunho asks, anxiety making his stomach roil. He should not have had dinner. They have never really talked about this in private, never really discussed it because they both know it was entirely out of their comfort zones. And even now, sometimes, deep in the night, Yunho wonders if Changmin regrets not leaving with them.

 

“Why would I do that?” The younger man’s voice is cool, Yunho notes with some relief. He persists on still, worried that the words may be for his benefit. He knows Changmin thinks he needs to be protected, needs to be babied on certain topics, but that is not fair to the other man. “Are you—are you sure? I mean, it’s all right with me if you want to resume the friendship, I don’t mind, and we were all very good friends once, and—”

 

“Jung Yunho.” Changmin’s voice is clear and crisp on the other end of the line. “Stop trying to be a martyr again, will you? Stop saying things you don’t really want. It’s me you’re talking to, remember? It’s your Changminnie.” His tone softens. “You don’t have to pretend with me.”

 

“Yeah,” Yunho breathes out, clutching his phone so hard that he is afraid he might have cracked the plastic. “Yeah, okay.”

 


	14. Knowledge

Day 12 - Knowledge [HoMin]

 

Yunho is leafing through the concept sketches for their next album when Changmin crashes into their office suite in SM, and he looks up only to see the other slam the door shut, body heaving as though after a vigorous workout at the gym. “Changmin…?”

 

Changmin turns to look at him, one hand still braced on the wooden frame. “Hi,” he greets, striding over to squish in next to Yunho on the sofa. Yunho gapes at him, taken aback by the uncharacteristic display of affection. “What… Why…?”

 

Changmin doesn’t say anything; he just stares, which unnerves Yunho even more. “Are you—” He begins, reaching out a hand for the younger man’s forehead, but it is batted away. “Hey,” Yunho squawks indignantly, “I was just—”

 

“Your mother called you.” Changmin says abruptly, leaning in even closer, until Yunho has to cross his eyes in order to see Changmin’s features properly. “You didn’t answer your phone, so she called me instead.”

 

“ _Eomma_? She did?” Yunho fumbles for his phone, jammed down the back-pocket of his shorts, and swipes a finger across the darkened screen. He’s dismayed to see a series of missed call notifications, all from his parents’ house number. “Oh shit, yeah, I forgot to take my phone off of silent mode.”

 

“That’s not important now,” Changmin interrupts, grabbing for the phone and shoving it into his own back-pocket. Yunho reaches for it, annoyance flaring, “ _why_ is it not important, I have to return her call—”

 

“She wanted to ask if you brought your birth documents with you back from your last trip to Gwangju,” Changmin murmurs, lacing his fingers with Yunho to stop the other from moving. “You did. I found them. Called her back and everything. She was just worried because she thought she had lost them while spring-cleaning.”

 

“Oh, that’s— that’s good,” Yunho starts, and he stops as a thought occurs to him, “wait, you found them? Did I leave them in your apartment, because that’s _crazy_ even though I know I’m shit at organiz-”

 

Changmin rolls his eyes and utters a funny sighing laugh, something that he seems to do around Yunho with alarming regularity these days. “Yun,” he disentangles one hand to place a finger over Yunho’s mouth, “shut up. I’m trying to talk here. And no, you didn’t leave it in my apartment. I was in the neighbourhood, so I drove to _your_ apartment and searched for them.”

 

“O…kay?” Voice somewhat muffled by Changmin’s palm, Yunho blinks, mired in confusion. “What has that got to do with anything?”

 

“It’s got to do with everything,” Changmin leans in for a kiss, just a chaste peck on the lips. “Imagine how I felt when I went into the guest room to search for your stuff.”

 

“Guest room, wha— wait— Oh. _Oh_.” Yunho stares at Changmin, stares at the slightly smug smile curving those voluptuous lips. “You saw, then…? Uh, okay, surprise?”

 

“I saw, indeed," Changmin grins, and Yunho feels dazed, dazzled, love-struck, Changmin-struck. He pulls his hand away from Changmin’s hand to curve it about Changmin’s neck. They lean against each other quietly for a while, content to just soak up each other’s presence.

 

Then:

 

“Only you,” Changmin utters after a while, breathing the words against his lips, “will think that turning your guest room into a Lego room is romantic. I assume it’s for me?”

 

“Of course it’s for you, who else would it be for— It’s not ready yet though, that’s why I haven’t told you about it—” Yunho tries to explain, but Changmin steals another kiss, and he gives up trying to talk in order to kiss back.


	15. Sunset

Day 21 - Sunset [HoMin]

 

"Changmin-san!" The man in question turns from the brilliant sunset before him, to the frantic waving of a production assistant some metres away. 

 

"Yes?" He asks, strolling over to the girl. The sand feels warm and gritty between his toes, and he luxuriates in the feeling by curling his toes inwards as he walks. The sky is beautiful, mauve-lilac-violet-amber-blue all melding together, occasionally interrupted by wispy clouds. But his contemplation of it is interrupted by the way the production assistant has her arms braced on her hips, shoulders heaving from the shouting and running.

 

A frisson of foreboding snakes down his spine. He quickens his pace. “Yes? What is it?” 

 

She takes another ten seconds to get her breath back, and in those ten seconds Changmin feels his contentment morphing into anxiety. “Yuuki-san? What is it?”

 

"Y-Yunho-san," she chokes out, and the anxiety collecting at the bottom of his belly turns into full-blown panic. He doesn’t wait for her to finish, but widens his strides to head for the canopy where Yunho is filming his solo parts.

 

Changmin does not know what to expect. Just this morning Yunho had toppled headfirst into the chilly pool, and all the staff did are to laugh, so used they were to Yunho’s clumsy antics. But the expression on the assistant’s face cannot be called laughing. Not the slightest.

 

He bursts into the canopied interior, vaguely aware of the entrance flap smacking him in the back. The few staff members nearest to him look up, startled, but his gazes darts among, and past them. No Yunho here.

 

His eyebrows knit involuntarily, and smooth out when he spies Yunho in a far corner, their managers next to him. He starts forward, relief flooding through him when he sees that Yunho is still in one piece. One completely dry, clothed, animated piece.

 

 … Too animated. Changmin understands the production assistant’s anxiety when he gets near enough to hear what Yunho is saying. 

 

"I like strawberries, yeah, strawberries," Yunho giggles, face flushed pink and pupils dilated. Changmin’s manager meets Changmin’s eyes over Yunho’s lolling head and he shrugs helplessly, lost for an explanation. Yunho’s own manager answers for him. “He got into the cocktails too soon,” the older man offers, when Changmin directs his gaze at him instead.

 

Exasperation makes Changmin speak louder than he means to, gritting the sentence out from behind clenched teeth. “He has gastric problems, remember? Honestly, you two, how could you?”

 

"Changmin-ah! With your hair like that you look like a strawberry!" Yunho exclaims cheerily, flinging a hand out to pat against Changmin’s thigh. His questing fingers land on coarse cotton and a hairy leg. Yunho seems to find that hilarious, and collapses back against Changmin’s manager, holding his hand up to the light and chortling. 

 

"How many cocktails did you have, Jung," Changmin snaps, eyes on Yunho, but his question is really directed at their managers. Yunho is still lucid enough to answer him, though. "Se— hmm-seven. Strawberries in them, so delish. You bad bad bad Chang-Chwang-Changminnie. Bartender-san said you you you… you told him no alcohol. Bad. Hyung is still older, you know. Hah U-Know. Not your child."

 

"I never said you’re my child, Jung," Changmin says darkly, already spinning around to look for the culprit. Time to have some more words with that idiot AVEX hired to pretend to mix drinks for their PV. 


	16. Wind

Day 14 - Wind [HoMin]

 

Yunho can’t help it, he’s tried to hold it in, but it seems futile. He curls up on the sofa in the lounge and stuffs a fist into his mouth, to make it clear that he’s trying, at the very least.

 

"Just go ahead and laugh," Changmin says sullenly, half-turned away from him. "Your entire face says you want to do it anyway."

 

It’s grudging permission of some kind, and Yunho doesn’t hesitate in grabbing the opportunity. He doubles over, hands banded protectively over his stomach. “This- this- is- priceless,” he manages to gasp out between peals of laughter, “fuck- must- tell- Donghae-“

 

"No!" Changmin thunders, eyes narrowed and teeth clenched. " _Don’t you dare_ , Jung Yunho!”

 

Yunho is pretty sure he dares, but Changmin looks like he’s raring to be given an excuse to punch him in the face, so he holds both hands up in acquiescence instead. “Yeah, okay, okay, I won’t, don’t worry, I won’t,” he tries for a placating tone, even though Changmin appears unconvinced by it. Must be the thread of laughter that’s still apparent in his voice. “I, uh- You sure you don’t need any help with that?”

 

Changmin bares his teeth in a loose approximation of a smile. “And let you yank my nipples off with this tape? No thanks.”

 

Yunho gulps, trying to suppress the hilarity, but his words tremble with laughter anyway. “Hey, I won’t do that to you. I actually _like_ your nipples, remember?”

 

"Fucking coordi-noonas and hyungs." Changmin gnashes out between his teeth, clearly bent on ignoring him. “Fucking strong summer winds. Fucking sticky tape. Fucking idiotic costumes. _Fucking sexy concepts—_ ”

 

"Nuh uh, don’t pin the blame on others now. _You_ ’re the one who volunteered to wear the revealing clothes," Yunho murmurs, a smile lurking at the corner of his mouth. Changmin’s head snaps up at that, from where he’s bent over, chin nearly on his chest, trying to remove the lines of sticky tape that cross over his chest in a V-shape, lines that delineate the drape of his performance outfit. Fucking stupid outfits that cannot withstand windy weather or vigorous dancing.

 

He doesn’t let that statement pass, eager for a chance to vent his frustration. He’s bent over Yunho in the next heartbeat, growling right into Yunho’s face. "If you think I’ll allow you to bare your chest to _seventy over thousand rabid fan girls_ -“

 

"We have lots of fanboys out there today too, I saw them," Yunho supplies helpfully.

 

"—you can fucking think again." Changmin nips hard at Yunho’s bottom lip to emphasize his point, pulling away when Yunho opens his mouth, wanting more. "Now shut the fuck up and just sit there and look pretty so that I can concentrate on getting all these stupid tape off my chest. Fucking high maintenance costumes."


	17. Tremble

Day 20 - Tremble [HoMin]

 

 _How about you imagine yourself on the ground and your pretty lips around my cock,_ Changmin types, biting back a smirk as he presses ‘send’. His phone rings –predictably—two seconds later, but he rejects the call and sends yet another text. This one says _I want to do sexting, not phone sex. If you have something to say, type it._

 

Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he reaches for the tap and turns it on to wash his hands. This is the seventeenth time he is heading into the men’s room, and the dancers are starting to catcall and tease whenever he returns. The last time he went back for the rehearsal after popping in here, Hyoje had asked laughingly if his right hand was tired yet.

 

Washing his hands will give him some ammunition (“Seriously, you people, I really went to the restroom to pee, look, my hands are wet, I washed them”) to stave off most of the teasing. He wishes he has a good enough poker face to text dirty talk in public, but it is hard when his partner’s replies either turns him on or turns him into a laughing mess.

 

He checks his phone again, and wonder of wonders, there is actually a reply text. The words ‘brat, m coming 2get u’ flash on his screen, and he trembles with suppressed laughter while pocketing the device. As if he is stupid enough to stand here and wait to be caught.

 

Flicking his fingers dry, he strides out from the restroom, intent on the water cooler. All the sexting has left him rather hot under the collar, and water sounds great before—

 

“Changmin-ssi.” The voice startles him, and he swings around, water halfway down his throat, expecting to come face to face with a staff member nagging him for not being at rehearsal but encountering the black lens of a camera instead.

 

He chokes and jumps, eyes widening involuntarily. Bowing hastily, he greets the cameraman and the production staff member hovering behind the former, while answering their run-of-the-mill questions as best as he can with sex still on his mind.

 

 _Oh shit,_ he thinks, as he gives a slightly too acerbic reply to yet another oh-how-are-you-feeling-are-you-nervous-blah-blah query. Shit, but what about—

 

Changmin catches a glimpse of red out from the corner of his eye; it is as though his mind has conjured the person in question, who looks disconcerted to see Changmin conversing with a cameraman in a very civilised manner. The idiot probably thinks he would be waiting in the restroom with his cock out like a slut out of some clichéd porno flick. Or something.

 

Speaking of porn… Changmin lowers his gaze discreetly and feels laughter bubble up in him at the sight of that impressive bulge, framed very nicely by those tight white pants. His amusement must have shown up on his face, because the next thing he knows, that idiot is plastering his own body to the wall and shuffling sideways in an attempt to reach the restroom without attracting attention.

 

He need not have bothered though. Like a shark smelling blood in the water, the camera manages to zoom in to record the fascinating phenomenon of U-know Yunho, one of Asia’s biggest stars, doing his best impersonation of a sea star going into the restroom. Changmin reins back a snicker and calls out, partly for the cameraman’s benefit and partly because he loves to see Yunho squirm, “why are you heading to the men’s room like that, Yunho, come on out now.”

 

“Ha ha ha, hello, hello!” Yunho slouches out, a beaming smile pasted on his face. His eyes are another story. He darts a glance at Changmin, a glance that says Changmin’s ass is going to hurt like hell the very second their concerts end, and ducks into a shallow bow while offering the cameraman with a grin that showcases too much teeth.

 

Changmin swallows another chuckle. He cannot wait.   


	18. Formal

Day 7 - Formal [HoMin]

 

Bang. A stack of papers thumps in front of Changmin, and he is almost startled into dropping his phone. He looks up and frowns at Yunho, who is the culprit. “Yah, Jung Yunho, the hell is wrong with you? Don’t do that. Idiot.”

 

Yunho’s face is a perfect mask, devoid of emotion. “Our schedules, Changmin-ssi. And the monthly staff expenditure sheets.”

 

Changmin stares at him. “Jung, are you okay? Are you sick?”

 

No answer. Yunho is still expressionless, eyes trained to the left of Changmin’s ear. “I would advise you to look them over as soon as possible. And sign the expenditure sheets as well, before you go back to texting your little girlfriends.”

 

The shock makes Changmin nearly drop his phone again. “I- I’m not- What girlfriends,” I only have a boyfriend, he thinks, bewildered, “it’s not like that, I’m texting Jongsoo-hyung, we’re talking about badminton-”

 

If anything, Yunho’s expression becomes more frozen. Changmin fumbles for words, panic swelling in him. “Wait- I don’t- Hyung, are you mad at me?”

 

Yunho turns on his heel in lieu of a reply. “Please sign them before the day is over, Changmin-ssi. Thanks very much,” he flings over his shoulder as he leaves their office -what they joking call the business suite SM has set aside for them- in unhurried strides.

 

His phone clatters to the ground, but Changmin doesn’t care about that now. “No, Yun, stop, you’re really angry- what did I do? Damnit, Yun, wait-”


	19. Companion

Day 8 - Companion [HoMin]

 

Changmin finally corners Yunho in one of the dance practice rooms a week later. It’s late, nearly one in the morning, and everyone sensible has locked up and headed home.

 

Then again, Yunho has never been sensible with his dancing. Ambitious yes, and confident and passionate and all other sorts of things but no, never sensible.

 

He crowds at Yunho, looms over him as impressively as the scant one inch he has over Yunho allows and brings their foreheads together, and tries to recall what comes next.

 

"You have to be the fisherman," Ryeowook had advised over cheap Hite beer and sweet rice cakes when Changmin finally caved a few days ago and turned up at the Super Junior dormitories for help. He’d gone to Kyuhyun first, but the latter was in the middle of a Starcraft marathon with Heechul, and Changmin wasn’t feeling quite up to Heechul’s verbal barbs. So he had stomped one level up and darkened Ryeowook’s doorway instead. His other best friend had taken one look at his face and went, “I just cooked”; and proceeded to ply Changmin with an abundance of snacks and alcohol.

 

Changmin had stared at Ryeowook in contemptuous disbelief. “What the fuck has this shit got to do with fishing?”

 

"Not literally. But you have to reel him in," Ryeowook explains, face alit with the prospect of having a problem to solve. As if he didn’t have enough playing Aunt Agony on his radio show. "You know. Be the pursuer. Take the initiative. Be active instead of passive."

 

"Jung Yunho is practically the fucking definition for ‘active’ in the dictionary," Changmin says, but he agrees to try Ryeowook’s way anyway when the latter takes away the rice cakes as punishment.

 

He repeats that to himself now, as he practically plasters himself against Yunho. But Yunho looks back at him, calm and serene and as fucking placid as a goddamn lake in winter. Changmin wants to throw something at the wall. Instead he settles for pushing harder against Yunho. “We need to talk,” he mouths against Yunho’s lips.

 

"I would prefer it if you remove yourself from my person before talking, Changmin-ssi," Yunho requests, as polite as you fucking please, and Changmin knows he needs to throw something at the wall before he did something stupid(er). Like burst into unmanly tears. “Look, Yun,” he grabs at Yunho’s shoulders before his boyfriend remembers that he actually possesses enough strength to push Changmin away, “I’ve been thinking, and I really have no idea why you’re angry.”

 

"I mean," he is hasty to add as he feels Yunho stiffen (and not in a good way), "I know you’re angry. And I know you’re angry with me. And I really want to fix it. The thing is _," insult yourself every five seconds_ , Ryeowook had said, _it’s a form of grovelling_ , “you know I’m a stupid, emotionally challenged bastard when it comes to us. So you need to tell me because I may have done shit but I was too stupid to realise it and now I’m too stupid to remember it.”

 

Yunho is still against him, one, two seconds, then: “You went to one of the Suju boys for help,” Yunho murmurs, still sounding pretty emotionless for him, but Changmin is dancing a fucking jig internally because his Yunho is responding after a week of painfully cordial exchanges and frozen silences. “I’m guessing it’s Ryeowook, because Kyuhyun would have just told you to get me drunk and fuck the problems away.”

 

Changmin winces, but he allows the barb to pass. It _is_ true that Kyuhyun isn’t the most sensitive person out there. “So does that mean you’ll tell me where I fucked up?” He questions, trying to keep the anxiety out of his voice but failing. “And- and- if I change it, are we good? Are we back to being okay?”

 

Yunho pushes him away in reply, and Changmin’s heart sinks, together with his head, until he hears a measured “Maybe.” He looks up, afraid to hope, and Yunho gazes back, continuing in the same quiet tone, “we’ll see. Perhaps you should start by thinking about how you seem to treat Lee Jongsoo as your partner. Instead of me.”

 

Changmin’s jaw drops, and he casts around for an answer, but Yunho doesn’t wait. The older man just turns and walks out of the studio, back straight and head held high.

 


	20. Move

Day 9 - Move [HoMin; ChangKyuWook]

 

"Can you just make a fucking move?" Kyuhyun grouses, throwing a chip that manages to hit its target (Changmin’s face) despite having both eyes fixated on his laptop screen. Ryeowook snorts and passes the box of Kleenex lying forlornly on the floor to Changmin, as well as a bowl of glazed sweet potatoes.

 

"Fuck you," Changmin grumbles in reply, dabbing at the tip of his nose, where the chip had smacked against. He crams two slices of sweet potato into his mouth at once and continues, cheeks bulging and voice garbled. "No one asked your opinion, you socially challenged idiot."

 

"Oy, you’re the one who turned up here, begging for advice," Kyuhyun fires back without missing a beat, index finger clicking on his mouse at an inhuman speed. "And no thanks, you’re not my type, I have better taste than Yunho-hyung."

 

Changmin flings a slice of sweet potato at him, crowing when the snack leaves a sticky smear of sugar on Kyuhyun’s sweater. “I’m here for Ryeonggu, not you, you daft bugger. Why the hell would I consult someone who made a girl cry on national TV on such delicate matters?”

 

"Fuck off," Kyuhyun curses, but without heat, and a spasm of guilt crosses his face. Ryeowook pulls out another tissue and hands it to him, while trying not to choke from a mixture of laughter, half eaten chips and sweet potatoes. He swallows with difficulty, thumping himself on the chest, and nudges Changmin, "he does make a bit of sense in this case though. Why not just make a move? It’s been nearly a month. You stalling like this will just make Yunho-hyung madder."

 

"I just- I can’t.” Changmin leans forward and starts to bang his head on the table, nearly at the end of his tether. “I mean, I get why he’s mad, _I_ would be too if he were the one getting all touchy-feely with Jongsoo-hyung, but the thing is, I can’t stop! I don’t actually want to do it, it’s just that Jongsoo-hyung is naturally like that, and he doesn’t mean anything by it, and the staff wants us to keep doing it-“

 

"So hug Yunho-hyung in front of the camera too, and hug Jongsoo-sunbae-nim less," Ryeowook says reasonably, to the back of Changmin’s head and the thudding of Changmin’s forehead against the smooth wooden surface. The groan muffled by the table has Kyuhyun and Ryeowook exchanging glances, and the former mouths ‘this is not _Anyeonghasaeyo'_ to Ryeowook's furrowed eyebrows. But Changmin is facedown on the table and muttering, “I don't want to, it cheapens our bond when we hug and touch and stuff in front of the camera!”

 

"Your bond with Jongsoo-sunbae-nim?" Ryeowook kicks Kyuhyun, who turns back to his game with a rolling of his eyes. Changmin sits up, eyes a little wild, and grabs Ryeowook by the arms. "No, with Yunho! My Yunho!”

 

"Then I really have no solutions for you," Ryeowook drains the last of his beer, his eyes are sympathetic but his tone is even. Kyuhyun snorts, but he refrains from pitching in again. "Except… Maybe, well. Sit him down and talk it out? And don’t let him walk away this time."

 

"And how the hell should I do that?" Gloom apparent in every inch of his posture, Changmin runs a hand through his hair in frustration. "He doesn’t even want to look at me anymore.”

 

"Lock both of you in a room and hide the key," Ryeowook suggests serenely, sipping at a new bottle of beer. "Tie him up and sit on him. You know. Stuff you two usually do, but with more talking this time."

 


	21. Outside

Day 24 – Outside [HoMin]

 

‘Where are you?’

 

‘Not at home, why?’

 

‘I’m at your apartment. Are you outside with your friends?’

 

‘I’m not with my friends, no. Why?’

 

‘Just thought I’ll drop by to watch some films together. Where are you out at, anyway?’

 

‘Out of the country.’

 

Changmin stares at the four words displayed on his phone’s screen in dumbfound disbelief. What the… out of the country? Out of the fucking country? He swipes at his screen until he reaches the keypad, and dials a number that he knows by heart.

 

Yunho picks up on the first ring. “You’re going to need to pay overseas charges, you know.”

 

“Fuck the money,” Changmin growls into the phone. “Where the fuck are you? Japan? Did you go to an AVEX meeting without me again?”

 

“I’m not in Japan.” Yunho’s words are muted, measured.

 

“Are we playing twenty questions now?” Changmin takes a deep breath and tries to control his irritation. “Did you head off for an impromptu vacation _and forgot to inform me_?”

 

“Changmin, I don’t have time for this right now.” Yunho still sounds polite, albeit strained. The politeness makes Changmin want to punch someone. Preferably Yunho. “For this? What is this? Oh, you mean my being angry because you failed to inform me of something so important?”

 

“Yunho-ssi, we’re ready for you now,” comes a faint voice on Yunho’s end, and Changmin jolts upright. “What the— are you _recording_ , Jung? While abroad? We have no activities now, so why—”

 

“Changmin, I really have to go, can we continue this later?”

 

“Fuck you, too,” Changmin snarls, fingers clenched around his phone. “Just tell me where the fuck you’re at and I’ll hang up—”

 

“Ghana.” Yunho says, and Changmin does not hesitate. He pulls his phone away from his ear and stabs at the ‘End Call’ viciously, flinging his phone at Yunho’s sofa. It bounces off and lands with an audible thud on the living room carpet, and Changmin sneers at nothing in particular. “Where the fuck is Ghana, and _why the fuck did I not know_ —The managers!”

 

He scrambles for his phone again, snubbing his toe on the coffee table in process, which earns the hapless piece of furniture a venomous “Fuck!” in the process. Scrolling through his contacts for Yunho’s manager’s number, Changmin rings him, tapping his sore foot impatiently against the carpeted floor.

 

“Oh, Changmin.” Yunho’s manager sounds too wary, as though he expects Changmin to call him while working himself up into a fit. “What can I do for you?”

 

“How about you start telling me where the fuck Ghana is at, and why the fuck is your charge there.” Changmin hisses.

 

“Africa.” The answer is prompt, almost rehearsed. “He’s there for voluntary work. KBS is filming it.”

 

“And _why_ was I not made aware of this?”

 

 “Ah, about that.” The older man stammers. “Er, well. Yunho… Yunho said since it was his own schedule and not a TVXQ! event, there wasn’t a— there was no need to inform you.”

 

“No need to inform—” Changmin sucks in a gulp of air, and releases it in a whoosh. It takes five such breaths to keep him from yelling at Yunho’s manager. Not good to shoot the messenger. “Okay. Okay. I… Thanks for telling me. I really appreciate it.”

 

“Ah, okay. I’ll hang up then.” Yunho’s manager pauses, and ventures a guarded, “don’t be too angry with him. He just thought that since you were busy with your show, he should go do… stuff on his own, too.”

 

“All right. All right.”  Changmin ends the call and flings it at the wall. His phone does not bounce this time. It shatters into two.

 

Like his heart, Changmin thinks. 


	22. Prepared

Day 11 - Prepared [HoMin]

 

“ _No_.” Yunho says, as he opens his bedroom door in their Tokyo apartment one morning to find a Changmin kneeling outside of it. He takes only two seconds to stare at Changmin and then retreats back into his bedroom, closing his door with a quietly decisive click.

 

“Hyung? Hyung!” Changmin knocks repeatedly, trying to keep his voice even. “Hyung, I know you can hear me. I’m prepared to kneel here for as long as it takes. Hyung? Hyung!”

 

It is another half an hour before the door opens again. “What is the meaning of this,” Yunho questions flatly, staring at some indefinable point over Changmin’s shoulder.

 

“I couldn’t think of any other way to apologise,” Changmin straightens his back, knees on the floor, hands placed on his knees and head bowed. He stares at Yunho’s bare feet and prays like hell this works. “I mean, I can’t say I’ll cut off contact with Jongsoo-ssi, because I can’t, that’s work, and-”

 

He doesn’t get any further because Yunho has grabbed him by his arm and hauled him in, kicking the door shut with a foot. Changmin stares at him, eye to eye now, because Yunho has pulled him up, and the uncivilised part of his brain is doing victory laps and screaming with joy at the feeling of Yunho’s hand gripping his arm and Yunho’s body against his. But he chooses his words with care, still. “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

 

Yunho gazes back at him, and he’s so near that Changmin can see each individual eyelash. He is silent for so long that Changmin can feel the panic bubbling up again, then: “You’re an idiot.”

 

“Yes, yes I am,” he agrees hastily, and is heartened to see the flicker of a smile across Yunho’s face. “I hated you for making me jealous.”

 

Changmin feels his gut churn at those measured words, and retains his composure just enough to utter a strangled, “I hope you don’t hate me now.”

 

“No.” Shifting closer, Yunho rests his chin on Changmin’s shoulder. He stops his mental cheering long enough to slip a wary arm around Yunho’s waist, tightening his grip when he doesn’t get pushed away. He waits for more, but apparently Yunho is content to leave his cryptic reply as that.

 

“"So you love me again now?” He prods carefully, and dismay cuts through him when Yunho lifts his head, a scowl on his face. “Don’t push it, punk.”

 

“Yeah, okay,” he concurs without a fight, curving his other arm about Yunho and hugging tight. “Okay.”


	23. Mad

Day 22 – Mad [HoMin]

 

“Er, Changmin—” Yunho starts, but his faint protest goes unheard. He stares mournfully at the bulging rubbish bag sitting in front of him. Maybe if he pretends to bring the bag to the rubbish chute right now, since Changmin is busy anyway. Maybe he will be able to salvage the ones that are still sealed and stash them away in his bedroom. Or something.

 

He winces as an opened jar of fermented soybeans is thrown on top of the dried squid, the brown paste splattering in an arc to drip all over the plastic packets. Damn. Too late now.

 

“What the hell, seriously, how the fuck did you even convince the realtor to sell this fucking place to you, I’ll never know.” Changmin’s upper torso is all but jammed into Yunho’s refrigerator, but even so, his grumbling is perfectly audible to Yunho still.  

 

“Hey, my fridge is clean, okay?” Yunho fires back an indignant retort, but he shuts up when Changmin pulls his head out of the fridge to glare at him. “You call this clean? You’re twenty seven fucking years old and _you call this clean_?”

 

“You need to calm down.” Yunho tries to back away, but Changmin twists around fully and he’s snarling into Yunho’s face, one gloved hand clenched around yet another half-filled rubbish bag. This one is for vegetables and other perishables. “You call this fucking pigsty clean? Jung, your broccoli was green because of the mould growing on it, not because it was fresh, and you fucking call this _clean_?”

 

“Okay, okay.” Holding his hands up, Yunho backs up until he is leaning on the kitchen counter. It is a safe distance away, a distance where Changmin has to stretch somewhat to sock him one. He hates to admit it, but when the younger man gets like this, all wide glaring eyes and pressed lips and bared teeth, well. It actually is rather frightening, never mind the numerous cracks he always makes about Changmin’s temper on TV.

 

“You’re hopeless.” Changmin bites out and turns back to the fridge’s interior, frustration stark in all the jutting angles of his body. Yunho makes a face at the back of Changmin’s head, feeling very much like a chastened schoolboy.

 

He jerks in mild shock when Changmin whips around again, face a mask of rage, with something white and shiny dangling from between two of his fingers. Yunho barely registers it as the almost brand new tube of toothpaste he had thought missing last month, before Changmin explodes.

 

“Jung!” He thunders, advancing towards Yunho while holding onto the toothpaste as though it were a dagger. “What the fuck, Jung? What is this? You put your toothpaste into your fridge? How the fuck— _Why_ the fuck— Why don’t you just move into the goddamned fridge, huh? And where the fuck is the cap??”

 

“I uh, maybe I was brushing my teeth and I got hungry?” Yunho offers, but even he knows how weak the explanation sounds. If looks could kill, he would be dead a million times over, because Changmin’s eyes look as though they are about to start spitting poison and fire any second. The effect is slightly muted though, by the apron and heavy-duty rubber gloves Changmin has on, and the bandana cloth he has wrapped about his forehead to keep his bangs out of his eyes. 

 

“I’ve had enough,” the other spits, and Yunho breathes a silent sigh of relief. Crisis over. But instead of tearing off the apron like Yunho thought he would, Changmin shoves the rubbish bag into Yunho’s hands and marches out of the kitchen, grabbing another brand new bag along the way as he marches past the cabinets.

 

“Wait, what— where are you going?” Yunho hurries to catch up, dumping the bag in his hands carelessly by the sink counter. He will take care of it after the storm is over. An angry Changmin in cleaning mode is a dangerous creature unsupervised.

 

“To clean your fucking bedroom because I’ll fucking bet all my fucking shares it’s a fucking rubbish dump in there!” Comes the growling answer somewhere ahead, and Yunho quickens his pace, horror spurring him on. Shit shit shit, not his room, anywhere but his room. 


	24. Simple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve!

Day 29 – Simple [HoMin]

 

“I like this.” Changmin says, words half-muffled by the cushion he is holding over his own face.

 

“What’s this?” Yunho returns absentmindedly, his mind more focused on devouring the manga panels in the slim volume held between his hands. Connie was having a nervous breakdown and even Levi look unsettled—

 

The cushion hurled into his face knocked Yunho out of his _Attack on Titan_ induced reverie. “Yah!” He bats it away, aiming a semi-serious scowl at Changmin, slouched at the other end of the sofa and wearing an impossibly smug grin. “That hurt, Shim Changmin!”

 

“You weren’t paying attention to me,” Changmin offers loftily as way of explanation. He stretches, straightening his legs to tangle with Yunho’s. They are both sprawled on the impossibly large sofa Changmin’s mother had bought for him as a housewarming present for his new flat a year ago.

 

Yunho spares a wistful thought for his own smaller, but no less comfortable sofa sitting in his own apartment. It must be feeling abandoned.

 

A hard pinch on Yunho’s right calf makes his eyes focus on his partner again, and the toes currently inflicting pain upon his person. “You’re an attention whore,” he sniffs, sandwiching the misbehaving foot between his own legs and squeezing.

 

“I would reply with a dirty joke,” Changmin grapples, intent on rescuing his poor foot from Yunho’s clutches, “but I’m not as uncivilised as you. Give me my foot back!”

 

Yunho tosses his manga aside and dives for Changmin, earning an undignified squawk from the other. “Your foot is mine,” he grunts, fingers digging into Changmin’s ribs. “As well as every part of you. You’re mine. There’s no return policy!”

 

“Lu—na—tic—” Changmin gasps out in between bouts of involuntary laughter, trying in vain to squirm away from Yunho’s fingers. “Fuck—no—this isn’t – _hahahahha_ funny—stop it oh fuck hahah—it _hurts_ —”

 

“Hurts good, doesn’t it,” Yunho waggles his brows and gives Changmin his best exaggerated leer. He wriggles his way up Changmin’s body, settling heavily between the other’s thighs, hands busy against Changmin’s sides all the while.

 

Sniggering when Changmin manages to contort his face into an expression of horrified disgust before succumbing to unmanly giggles again, Yunho rests his chin against Changmin’s shoulder, even as the other tries unsuccessfully to buck him off. “Get— _away_ hahahahha you stupid—idiotic—pervert oh stop it shit fuck hahahaha—”

 

Yunho digs in his fingers one last time, then slides his hands away in favour of framing Changmin’s cheek in one and carding through Changmin’s hair with the other. “Chasing me away when you’re the one who said you liked this, huh? I’m hurt, you fickle man.”

 

“Stupid,” Changmin manages to groan, even as he is trying to get his breath back from the impromptu tickling session. “You’re a stupid idiot.”

 

“Your idiot, though.” Yunho props himself up with elbows bracketing Changmin’s head, and beams down at his partner. “You’re the one who likes me being an idiot.”

 

“Ugh, just—shut up.” Rolling his eyes, Changmin hooks an arm behind Yunho’s head and pulls him down for a kiss. Anything to shut the idiot up. 


	25. Winter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas!

Day 25 – Winter [HoMin]

 

“Here.” An immaculately wrapped gift box thumps in front of Yunho, and he blinks, tracing his eyes along the hand that just tossed said gift, and up, up, until he looks up to the extremely impassive expression decorating Changmin’s face.

 

“A present? For me, Changminnie? For _me_?” Yunho grins, maintaining his slouch on the sofa in their office at the company’s, before reaching a hand out to palm the box. It is of an odd size; rectangular and about the length of Yunho’s forearm. “What have I done to deserve this love from my adorable Changmin?”

 

“It’s a Christmas present, you dumbass,” Changmin snorts somewhat half-heartedly. His eyes are darting about, focusing on anywhere except on Yunho, and the oddity of it more than piques Yunho’s interest. He sits up, a hand still upon the present. “Yeah, but you’re Buddhist, you don’t celebrate Christmas, remember?”

 

Changmin makes an abrupt gesture towards the box. “If you don’t want it—”

 

“No, no, what gave you the idea,” Yunho interrupts swiftly, gathering the box into his arms. He shakes it briefly, and grins at the long-suffering look forming on Changmin’s face. “You haven’t bought me a Christmas present for so long, though. What is it?”

 

Changmin mutters something, face flustered, but Yunho does not quite catch it, because he is trying to find a way to remove the wrapping paper without doing too much damage to it—the care that Changmin had taken while wrapping it was obvious, and Yunho thinks he wants to preserve this, another memento of the depth of Changmin’s feelings for him. “What?”

 

“I said,” Changmin mutters at a slightly louder volume with more than a little irritation. “It isn’t something I bought— I— Ugh, _just open it_!”

 

And with that, he vanishes out the open door. Yunho gawks at the sight of his rapidly retreating back. “Wah—Changminnie—”

 

Long seconds tick by, but they do not bring Changmin back, and Yunho turns back to his present –from his Changmin!— with an eager grin on his face. The last time he received a present from Changmin was nearly nine years ago, on Yunho’s birthday, and the teasing the other received when he presented his gift to Yunho had ensured that Yunho only received cheeky text messages and no gifts on his birthdays and other special occasions for the subsequent years.

 

Until now.

 

The gift is neatly wrapped, corners and edges beautifully smoothed out and it takes him about five minutes to remove the wrapping paper without ripping any of it. The box that comes into view makes Yunho’s breath hitch, and he traces the puma motif arcing over four letters fondly, almost reverently.

 

He lifts the lid, and his breath catches in his throat.

 

The sports shoes are a fiery red in colour ( _red for Cassiopeia, for the blood and sweat they shed in the past decade_ ), and there is a ‘Yunho’ printed in bold white at the back of the shoe ( _Yunho for both the entertainer U-Know, born for the stage and the boy Jung, frozen in time_ ). There is a familiar silhouette stencilled on the faces of the shoes, too familiar, with its hat cocked at a jaunty angle, short ponytail flaring out behind ( _Dancing king, the idol of a teenager who practiced in Gwangju’s Sangnam park, so long ago_ ).

 

But what makes his vision blur and his mirth flee, only to be replaced by wonder, are the three words written in a mixture of English and Hangul, on a card tucked next to the shoes, in Changmin’s distinct, neat handwriting.

 

“Happy Christmas, 형.” It reads. 


	26. Promise

Day 28 – Promise [HoMin]

 

They duck under the stairs beneath the stage, weaving in between jubilant staff, drunk on the adrenaline and the headiness of thousands of voices calling their names. At least, Yunho is; he thinks Changmin is staggering a little partly because of that entire can of beer he downed a little while ago, too. Perhaps fifteen minutes? Yunho does not know. Time is going by too slowly and too fast all at once, a beautiful twirling blur of lights and shouts and precious, precious laughter.

 

They spin along, arms about each other, laughing and laughing and laughing. Yunho accepts high-fives from his manager, from Changmin’s; their dancers thump them both on their backs, and he thinks he saw his coordinator wiping tears away from her eyes. Changmin’s hair stylist is already inconsolable, sobbing ‘they did it’s and tears onto the shoulder of their drummer.  

 

Everyone is a blur of tears and smiles and joy, and Yunho cannot help himself. He feels the already dopey grin on his face stretch and widen, and a tiny, still rational part of him spares a thought at how he must look like an idiot. He cannot really bring himself to care though.

 

He is happy. Truly happy, happy like he has not been for a long, long time. He never thought he could be happy like _this_ again, that they truly can stand tall again, and, and—

 

His musings are interrupted as Changmin pushes, shoves him, really, against the door of a random room—their dressing room, Yunho realises. It is just him and Changmin in their dressing room, the roar of the crowd and their staff a distant bellow. Just Changmin and him, like it was and it is and it will be.

 

It is too quiet here, and dark. Changmin is a dim mass of shadows and angles, breath hot against his lips, body lightly resting on his. Yunho feels another chuckle bubble up, bursting into the space between their mouths. An exhale from Changmin, and then a murmur of amusement, “what’s so funny, Jung?”

 

“I’m just so happy,” Yunho confesses, grinning even though his cheeks are starting to hurt. “I’m just… I can’t… I’m _happy_.”

 

Changmin leans forward, just a little, so that his mouth brushes barely at Yunho, a chaste press of lips. “I have a question, though.”

 

“What question?” Yunho returns, drunk off happiness, drunk of Changmin. He nuzzles closer, curving his arms about Changmin’s waist, nudging his nose against Changmin’s.

 

Changmin nudges back, a press of his nose against the arch of Yunho’s cheek. “You said twenty years, though. Why only twenty?”

 

Yunho pulls away, slightly, searching Changmin’s eyes as best as he can with the lack of light. “Let’s go on together till the end for the rest of our lives,” he tries, another chortle escaping him. It earns him a hard pinch to his side, and a faux-annoyed, “what did I say about making decisions without me, huh?”

 

Tightening his arms about Changmin, Yunho rests his chin against Changmin’s shoulder and whispers, “How about this, then: Shim Changmin-nim, shall we go on together till the very end?”

 

“That’s more like it. Promise?”

 

"Promise."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Double post today. Happy Anniversary to our boys; it's been a decade and they're still going strong. Here's to many, many decades more!


	27. Haze

Day 5 - Haze [Homin]

 

"Shit," Yunho gasps, as he finally relaxes, boneless with satisfaction against Changmin’s chest. "Shit, you’re so going to kill me with sex, I know it."

 

"Oh for fuck’s sake," Changmin groans in exasperation, shoving at Yunho’s head from where it’s lolling against Changmin’s clavicles. "We can always stop fucking if you’re going to be so whiny about it every single time. And get off, you’re heavy and yuck, your sweat is sticking to mine- Get off- Ugh-"

 

"So cruel, my Changmin," Yunho slurs through a haze of contentment, drunk off of his orgasm. But he rolls off anyway, flopping down with an arm slung over Changmin’s thighs. "I make you come twice and this is how you treat me, huh. I feel so used."

 

"Yeah yeah, I don’t see you exactly hating on it." Rolling his eyes, Changmin shoves half-heartedly at the recalcitrant hand sneaking in between his legs. "No more, my back hurts."

 

"But I love your sexy little ass." Yunho turns and twists, so that Changmin’s legs are curving about his shoulders, and Yunho slips his hands between Changmin’s buttocks and spreads, holding him up, so that Changmin is beautifully exposed and open to his gaze. The latter squirms, shocked protests spilling out from him. "No, wait, Jung, what the hell are you doing- are you looking, oh my God, you are! Stop it, stop staring, you-"

 

"Be quiet, Changminnie," Yunho murmurs, sweetening the command with a prolonged lick. He can smell Changmin’s natural musk, but only faintly, because his boyfriend’s pathological cleaning habits also extend to his body. No, what is dominant is the taste of himself, heavy upon Yunho’s own tongue. And that is arousing as fuck, that he is licking, eating his own semen out from inside Changmin, from the sweet little entrance that is all reddened and well-fucked and still decorated by strings of Yunho’s cum.

 

“No, damn it, stop,” Changmin gasps, voice more breath than sound. Shame and arousal twist into a heavy, potent knot at the bottom of his belly. He tries to lever Yunho off and away from him, but even though his limbs obey him, he is horrified to feel himself clenching involuntarily about Yunho’s tongue.

 

Yunho pauses after what feels like years, content to trace about the opening instead, his tongue a teasing flutter. He rests his head against Changmin’s sweat slicked upper thigh, his gaze heavy-lidded and glinting. “I should stop, huh. That’s not what your pretty ass is saying, Changminnie.”

 

“You—” Changmin starts, but he chokes on a moan, hands scrabbling for purchase about his partner’s shoulders as Yunho starts to fuck him with his tongue in earnest.


	28. Diamond

Day 26 – Diamond [HoMin]

 

Yunho grins fondly, standing beside his manager. “He’s grown a lot, hasn’t he?”

 

“What?” Manager hyung looks up from his phone’s screen and over at Yunho. The missus must be nagging him to be home for dinner on time again, Yunho thinks, with a bit of guilt, because manager-hyung’s work –for them- is the reason why he is never home on time.

 

“Who?” Manager hyung asks again, pulling Yunho out of his reverie.

 

“Oh, I mean him,” Yunho nods towards where the subject in question is aiming yet another smouldering gaze at the camera. “Isn’t he handsome?”

 

Manager hyung stares in the direction Yunho had indicated, at the photo shoot, and turns back to Yunho, looking decidedly unimpressed. “And you just realised that… _now_? You’re the one with your face practically plastered to his everyday.”

 

Spluttering, Yunho straightens, face heating up. Lucky that it does not show –much—with what feels like a ton of makeup slathered on his face. “I do not—what—plaster! We don’t—not everyday—”

 

His hyung takes pity on him. “I mean for shoots and interviews, haven’t we said it to you a thousand times? Would it kill you to sit further apart and not glue your heads together? I swear, you two have magnets in them… The staff provides you with two seats for a purpose, you know.”

 

The heat in Yunho’s cheeks subsides, somewhat. Although the back of his neck still feels rather warm. “Ohhhh. Oh. Um. Haha. Oh.”

 

Pocketing his phone, Manager hyung aims a sly smile at Yunho’s way. “What did you think I was saying, then?”

 

“Haaaaa, nothing—”

 

“Did you think I was talking about the fact that. You two. Suck. Face. On. A. Regular basis?” The words are enunciated with relish.

 

Yunho whirls to face the older man fully, back to the shoot, mouth gaping rather unattractively. “You—you—you—”

 

“Did you think we didn’t know?” Manager hyung hums leisurely, patting down his coat to remove imaginary bits of snow and lint. “Did you think you were discreet? _Please_. You may have been in the business ten years, but the two of us have been it for more.”

 

Yunho shakes his head, feeling like a cowed rookie again. “I, uh—”

 

He does not get any further than that, because a cool, unamused voice sounds from over his shoulder. “Hyung, are you bullying my leader again?”

 

Manager hyung snorts, folding his arms across his chest. “He’s only your leader when you wish it, brat.”

 

“Who are you calling a brat?” Yunho splutters, defensive. “He—”

 

“I have five inches and a negative of ten years on you, hyung, don’t make me remind you of that fact.”  

 

A theatrical shiver shakes Manager hyung. “Ooooh, I’m so scared. Help.” He cocks his head. “Go change into the next set of clothes and stop wasting time, Shim-lideo-nim. The photographer is waiting.”

 

“It’s ‘leader’, hyung, your command of English is atrocious.” The contemptuous reply is belied by the covert squeeze Yunho feels on his arm. “What did you do to make him go all crazy on you, Yun?”

 

Yunho turns around, smiling up at Changmin’s face, all supermodel cheekbones, slashing eyebrows and wide, lashed eyes. His Choikang, his Changmin, his beautiful boy, his diamond in the rough, now polished and elegant in his brilliance. “Told him you are handsome.”

 

The taller man gives a decidedly inelegant scoff. “I take it back, you deserve his bullying. Idiot.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been months, I know. My sincerest apologies.


	29. Letters

Day 27 – Letters [HoMin]

 

To my esteemed Jung-dongryo,

 

So I’m writing this while we’re supposed to be working on our actual ‘Thanks to’ section for the new album. I guess I just feel that dedicating two sentences to you in a handful of words isn’t quite enough. But I can’t write an essay to be put inside such a little booklet, and I suppose I can just say what I want to say to you, but… Some words, when spoken, just seem so insincere, you know? Or maybe I should say, when _I_ speak them, because you’re so much more eloquent than me.

 

I can see you hard at work, writing your own note at the other end of the conference table, and chewing on your pen as usual. You do know that that’s really disgusting to watch, not to mention bad for your extremely expensive porcelain veneers? And here comes Manager-hyung with the schedule sheets for the upcoming week, I bet he’ll yell at you for sticking the pen into your mouth and- ha! I knew it. Nearly twenty-nine years old and still doing things that make Manager-hyung yell at you. I wish your fanboys could see this just so that it wipes the reverent adoration from their faces. But knowing them- and knowing you- they’ll probably worship you even more for some crazy reason like “looking cool even while eating a pen and getting scolded”. Or something.

 

Okay, this thing isn’t going very well. Maybe I won’t give this to you after all. Maybe this can be a draft. Maybe. I don’t know. I just… It’s so hard to pen it down. I will try, though.

 

I guess, most of all— I’m grateful to you? I really didn’t think I’ll come this far, or that we’ll still be working together happily after so long, with the keyword being “happily”. Not after… That. I had doubts that we could survive, just the two of us. But we did. We do. Due, I believe, in no small part to you, for your everlasting persistence and diligence. For pushing both yourself and me forward, and for having hope when there was none, and when I had none.

 

So, I have to thank you, for taunting the shy teenager who didn’t think he could last, for giving him a reason to improve, and to _want_ to improve.

 

People often say meaningless things like ‘you are in my heart’ or ‘you are my soul’. I think that’s stupid. There’s nothing inside our hearts except for blood and muscle and maybe oxygen, and the existence of a soul is something that’s been up for debate for years and years. But you, you are part of my brain. You helped mould it, shape it to become what it is, and shape me to who I am today. For what is my brain but me? And what am I but my brain?

 

I definitely can’t give this to you now. You’ll think I’m crazy, or that I’ve spent too long a time reading those books on my professor’s reading list that you were clucking over a few days ago. But at least I’ve written it out, and even if you won’t see it, I will. It’s as much for me as it is for you.

 

You’re a great leader, co-worker, teammate and follower, Jung-dongryo. I cannot and will not ask for better.

 

Sincerely, your colleague,

Shim Chang Min.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The "Jung dongryo" thing is a bit of an inside joke. Do watch TVXQ!'s teaser for their Spellbound repackage!


	30. Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1111 words, because of the interplay between dreams and reality; and "1" is considered the ultimate by Plotinus etc. odd philosophical theories that I'm sure no one else cares about. And because it's the last proper ficlet, so have one that's twice the length of the others. Heh.
> 
> The first part of this 30th ficlet is inspired largely by Eason Chan's 爱情转移 (roughly translated to Love Transference in English), and is especially pertinent to the lyrics "短暂的总是浪漫 漫长总会不满 / 烧完美好青春换一个老伴", or "what's brief is always idealised as romantic; what's prolonged always dissolves into dissatisfaction / burn up the glorious years of your youth and search again for yet another to accompany you in old age".
> 
> I would recommend this be read while listening to [the actual song](http://wennytime.tumblr.com/post/78226120990/allaboutchinese-eason-chans-loves) but I get that angsty Mandopop ballads are not to everyone's taste. XD 
> 
> The "what ifs are as boundless as the stars" line is quoted from Sally Gardner. 
> 
> Okay, enough prattling on.

Day 30 – Future [HoMin]

 

Yunho meets Changmin again, years later, at the funeral for Changmin’s wife. His children are all dressed in traditional mourning clothes, wisps of figures huddled together in a cloud of cream coloured _sangryebok_. But Changmin himself is clad in unrelieved black, buttoned up in a three-pieced Western styled suit.

 

Yunho allows himself to indulge, just a little. Changmin’s hair is white, but still he stands straight and proud and tall, back unbowed. The changes old age has wrought upon him is minimal; it is as though Yunho last saw him the day before, instead of it being two decades since they last met.

 

He stops in front of Changmin, one hand gripping tight onto his cane, because today is rainy, and his bad knee is acting up. He cannot quite walk properly without some form of aid anymore, and dancing is a long forgotten dream, lost in unpitying reality.

 

“Hello.” Yunho offers, stopping in front of the other. Changmin gazes at him steadily, eyes bright and undimmed by age. He is still handsome, Yunho realises, distinguished, actually, with laugh lines and creases mapping out the contours of his face.

 

“Hello, _hyung_ ,” comes the measured reply.

 

An awkward silence ensues, and Yunho brushes his fingers over the head of his cane, absent-mindedly tracing the inscription carved into the polished ebony. He knows it by heart. _Jung Yunho, a boy frozen in time, and a man loved by time._ His late wife had commissioned it, back when his knee first went bad.

 

Perhaps time _had_ loved him; but it had not been kind to him.

 

“My condolences.” He finally thinks to say.

 

“Mine, too. She was a good woman.”

 

“Not a good wife?” Yunho dares to remark. But even as he says it, he flinches, taken aback by his own audacity.

 

Changmin’s gaze remains on his face, unwavering yet undecipherable. “No,” he murmurs after a too long beat of silence, pregnant with too many unspoken accusations and emotions, “no, because I never wanted a wife after all.”

 

“Changmin-ah.” Yunho swallows. His dentures feel too big for his mouth, jamming harshly against the inside of his sagging cheeks. “We shouldn’t speak ill of the dead like that. It isn’t… It isn’t proper.”

 

“Why?” Changmin smiles at him then, bitter and mirthless, eyes cold and empty and dead as the body of his lawful spouse lying in a casket barely metres away. “But we’ve done too many improper things together to care about propriety, haven’t we, _hyung_? Isn’t it a bit too late?”

 

He dips into a shallow bow, the incline of his head a mocking parody of the young boy who had bowed and stammered out greetings to Yunho over seventy years ago. “But as the _dongsaeng_ , I must, of course, apologise for my lack in manners.”

 

**_Or_ :**

 

Yunho wakes up with tears in his years and a truncated breath caught in his throat, a name escaping in a stutter from the confines of his mouth. He sits up, and places a trembling hand over his mouth as he tries to reconcile facts with reality.

 

“What is it, Yun,” a sleep clogged voice questions, issuing from the warm lump curled against him. Multiple layers of sheets and blankets and duvet muffle the query, compressing it into a barely discernible set of sounds. “Why are you up? Go back to sleep.”

 

“Changmin-ah,” Yunho says, the name a benediction, a prayer. The syllables are ambrosia upon his tongue, and they taste precious, beautiful, wonderfully _right_ ; so he says it again. “Changmin.”

 

“What.” A pillow smacks Yunho in the face as Changmin sits up as well, glaring at him, squinty-eyed. A pillow crease bisects his right cheek and there is crust at the edge of his barely opened eyes and yet he is so painfully handsome that Yunho’s breath catches again, in his throat.

 

His staring increases Changmin’s ire, though. “ _What_ ,” the other snarls, stretching a leg out to kick at Yunho’s thigh.

 

“Nothing, I just…” Yunho feels foolish even as he fumbles to articulate his feelings _. I had a bad dream? I dreamt I married another? I dreamt_ you _married another? I dreamt we did not get our happily ever after, after all?_

 

Changmin looks at Yunho then, really looks, gaze searching. Whatever he finds seem to concern him, because he blinks rapidly in an attempt to pull himself fully into wakefulness, and his voice gentles. “What is it, Yunho?”

 

“I dreamt I lost you,” is what Yunho finally manages to say.

 

“Oh, Yun.” Changmin shakes his head, and somehow he moves, and Yunho moves, and Yunho finds himself surrounded by Changmin, tight arms circling his waist and a sleep-tousled head tucked neatly into the curve of his neck.

 

They stay like this, for long comfortable moments, tangled up in the quiet and each other, just breathing, languorous and relaxed. Yunho finds himself calming; the frantic heartbeat he does not even realise that is fluttering beneath his skin gradually slowing down, to a more measured beat.

 

Changmin pulls away slightly, after a while, so that he can brush soothing, chaste kisses against the corners of Yunho’s lips. He tastes like sleep and the mint of their shared toothpaste, and Yunho inhales him in, pressing their foreheads together in an effort to get even closer.

 

“You won’t lose me,” Changmin tells him, voice low and reassuring. “You won’t lose me because even if you try to give me away, I’ll come back. I’ll always come back.”

 

“Are you sure?” Yunho asks, despite himself. The dream— the nightmare feels too real, too raw. Too possible. He kisses back, chasing after Changmin, addicted to his scent and his warmth and his everything. “What if— what if I push you away? What if I make you go? What if… what if you just don’t care anymore, and you leave?”

 

“I’ve had opportunities to leave, Yun,” Changmin replies, the whispered words imprinting themselves, sinking into Yunho’s skin, a tattoo of promises inking themselves upon his heart, “I haven’t taken them. I won’t ever take them. Trust me to know myself, at the very least.”

 

“Besides,” he continues, drawing Yunho down, so that they’re lying back on the bed, face-to-face, chest-to-chest, hips-to-hips. “Besides, since when have I listened to you? What makes you think I’ll go just because you tell me to?”

 

“Yes,” Yunho agrees, the concession an exhalation in the dark, only just audible. “True. I just…”

 

“You see, what ifs are as boundless as the stars.” Changmin curls a hand about the back of Yunho’s neck, fingers feathering against the contour of Yunho’s ear. “It’s pointless to try to think overlong about them. Go to sleep, now.”

 

And Yunho obeys.

 


	31. Bonus: Language Smut

Bonus: Day 31 – Language Smut [Homin; drabble for Haley]

 

“きれいだ、" Changmin murmurs, shoving up aggressively against Yunho, cock hard against the outside of Yunho’s thigh. He tilts his head to lick a strip on the underside of Yunho’s jaw. "彼がいますか?”

 

Yunho moans, ridiculously turned on by the how smooth and civilised Changmin sounds, murmuring in his cultured Tokyo accent while performing unspeakably filthy things against his person. “Yes, baby, more, yes, love it when you talk in Japanese, yes-“

 

“いいえ?" Changmin smirks, one hand cupping at Yunho’s crotch, the heel of his hand pressing down hard on the base of Yunho’s cock, slowly grinding. He frowns when Yunho nods, and growls in displeasure. "だれ?”

 

"No, n-no, I mean," Yunho stutters in denial, breath fracturing in excitement. "I mean you, Changminnie, only you-"

 

”すごい." Pleased, Changmin licks about the shell of Yunho’s ear and changes his grip on Yunho’s cock, stroking upwards to thumb at the swollen head. He scratches a finger over the tiny slit, "お前はいい子です~”

 

The informal pronoun rings in Yunho’s ears, and he squirms, ridiculously turned on by how rude Changmin is being while speaking in a tone that could have been utilised in polite conversation regarding the weather. “No, Changminnie, don’t be rude, I won’t last, oh, oh-“

 

”なんで?" Changmin pecks a string of kisses from Yunho’s ear to Yunho’s mouth, pausing to grin against the voluptuous curve of that lower lip. "好、き、だ~”

 

The teasing tone sets Yunho off, and he comes, painting Changmin’s hand with strips of white. Changmin grins and lifts his hand, unfurling his fingers to lick almost daintily at them. He smiles at the look of dazed lust suffusing across Yunho’s face. “おつかれ、ユンホ-さん.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for whatkindoftea nearly eight months ago, and originally posted [here](http://wennytime.tumblr.com/post/56294916562/drabble-for-haley-language-smut-homin). 
> 
> *
> 
> Note: my shitty grasp on Nihongo led to these phrases that are probably not grammatically correct; any kind souls who know the language, please let me know if corrections are to be made. 
> 
> "きれいだ - "So pretty."
> 
> "彼がいますか? - "Do you have a boyfriend?"
> 
> "いいえ?" - "No?"
> 
> "だれ?" - "Who?"
> 
> "すごい. - "(that’s) Good."
> 
> "お前はいい子です~" - "You’re (omae, very informal) a good boy.”
> 
> "なんで?" "好、き、だ、" - roughly translated as "Why? I like it."
> 
> "おつかれ、ユンホ-さん" - "Thank you for your hard work (informal), Yunho-san."
> 
> *
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me throughout this overly ambitious challenge! I've really enjoyed reading your suggestions and reactions as we progressed from prompt to prompt. As always, comments, especially constructive criticism, are very appreciated. Have my thanks once again.


End file.
